


Besame Mucho

by writeskatelive



Category: Figure Skating - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Romance, figure skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 19:36:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16352927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeskatelive/pseuds/writeskatelive
Summary: "Kiss me, kiss me a lotFor I am afraid of having youAnd losing you once more."Ksenia Stolbova and Fedor Klimov have skated together for almost nine years, but they've never been more than business partners. But when a strange decision by the International Olympic Committee shatters their dream, they lose all sense of what they've always known and spend one night together, lighting a spark that could lead them to a new kind of eternal flame.Warnings: Some brief sensuality in Chapter 1 and suggestive references throughout, nothing too steamy though(I’m so heartbroken that these guys aren’t skating together anymore irl - they were one of the best pair teams I ever saw)





	Besame Mucho

Chapter 1: Besame, Besame Mucho

Ksenia flung open the apartment door, letting the knob hit the wall, and kicked off her sneakers. One flew into the wall and the other landed disappointingly in the center of the floor.

She tore off her coat, flung it on the chair, and stomped into her bedroom to the framed mirror on the wall. Her eyes were burning, her hair askew, and if a loaded gun had a face, it would be hers.

She had already stormed through half of Moscow like a madwoman, but her aggression was just getting started. In fact, she could probably cross all thirteen time zones of Russia before she felt anywhere close to calm.

Her suitcase was lying open on the floor, half unpacked. On top lay her two new skating dresses – one a fiery red with black lace, the other a deep plum. The dresses she was supposed to be wearing to the Olympics.

Except as far as she was concerned, there were no Olympics.

Well, actually, there was an Olympics for everyone who was not named Ksenia Stolbova or Ivan Bukin.

No explanation. No one to stand up for their rights. No way to fix this.

Her heart flamed just thinking about it, like there were hot coals in her chest. There was not enough air in the apartment. She needed to run.

She didn't even know how she ended up on the curb, standing in the freezing Moscow street without her coat, or how a few minutes later, she was inside a taxi, telling the driver to take her to a place she had only been once before.

By the time her brain started working, they were halfway there.

What was she thinking? She never went to his apartment. He'd done a whole interview entitled "The Sexual Story with Ksenia Stolbova Stays Only on the Ice", in which he explained that they never hung out after practice, never talked about their personal lives with each other, and certainly never slept together.

It wasn't that they hated each other. True, there had been that one time three years ago, when he'd tripped on his toe pick at the end of the program and threw their European title down the toilet. It wouldn't have been so bad if they could've just won it the next year, but now their younger teammates, Evgenia and Vladimir, had basically staged a palace coup on Russian pair skating. Not to mention, that stubborn old Aliona Savchenko didn't seem to know the definition of the word "retire".

Anyways, they didn't hate each other. They were just too different. After nearly nine years together, she still couldn't fathom why he enjoyed golfing, or watching football, or that weird sci-fi movie with the creepy man in the black helmet and those swords that lit up.

Then again, he didn't understand her love for beaches, perfume, and Nicole Kidman movies, so they were even.

The cab pulled up to his apartment complex. She paid the cabbie and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The building was set away from the main hub – he had always liked the peace and quiet.

His room was on the fourth floor. She tore her way up the stairs, nearly running over some old lady, and arrived at his door panting. Her heart was burning a hole through her body as she knocked.

The door opened. Fedor was wearing a thin T-shirt and old jeans, which usually gave him that "James Dean daydream" look. But his eyes were exhausted and his hair hung loose from that silly little man bun.

"Ksenia," he said, as if he didn't believe she was actually here. "What are you-"

She grabbed him by the neck of his shirt and pushed him back into the apartment until he thumped against the wall. She held him there with her body, laying both hands on his chest, and silenced him with her mouth. At first his lips were stiff with surprise, but then they started to move with hers until it was a completely equal affair.

"What was that for?" he said.

She looked up at him, at the dark shadow of his chin. His muscles were tight under her hands, and sweat was beading up on her forehead, urging her to do something. Her turtleneck felt like a cage.

"Are you all right?" He was watching her with that look he always got when she was doing something crazy and adorable at the same time. Half a smile, half a look of concern.

She could never resist that look.

Her left hand coursed down his chest, feeling every muscle, and paused on the waistband of his jeans. His smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, then took over his whole face.

He picked her up with one arm around her waist, carried her to his room, and set her on the bed. The fire in her chest had spread to her whole body, but now it had a sweeter tang to it.

She stripped off her turtleneck, messing up her hair as it went over her head, and tossed it aside. Her shoes dropped to the floor with two thuds, and her jeans landed on top of them a second later.

He turned around, wearing only his gray boxers. His eyes scanned her for a minute, taking in her slender legs and her lacy black unmentionables and that fiery, sexy gaze she had given him only in skating programs.

He came towards her, and she scrambled back towards the pillows. His lips found her neck, kissing the pulse that wouldn't slow down no matter how much she tried to breathe. His mouth was gentle against her skin, almost reverent. Then he moved down to her collarbone. His lips brushed the top of her breast, then paused, looking at her as if to ask for permission.

To reply, she wrapped her legs around his waist and rolled over, pulling him down beside her. Her hand clutched the long, loose hairs he usually slicked back, and she buried her mouth in his shoulder, sucking on the smooth, fresh taste of his skin.

He lay his hand between her shoulder blades and pulled it down to the small of her back. She had felt that hand there a thousand times before, when she would come down from a twist and he would grab her the second before she hit the ice, holding her tightly as if she was the most precious treasure in the world. But this time, there was no fear in his touch, no panic that she would somehow slip out of his grasp and fall.

She pulled her lips away from his shoulder and went for his neck, right on his Adam's apple. Her top leg uncurled from his waist and hooked around his thigh, where those stupid boxers remained.

His hand slipped down the curve of her bottom, his touch warm through the dainty lace of her panties. His finger toyed with the waistband for a second, but he kept moving down her leg, heating the muscle in the back of her thigh that never fully stopped being sore from skating.

"Besame," she whispered, her lips barely leaving his neck. "Besame mucho."

He blinked, not understanding. "What?"

She frowned. "Really, you don't know the name of our short program music? It means 'kiss me a lot'."

A grin crept across his face. "I think I like that very much."

 

Chapter 2: “Did She Strangle You?”

 

"Two Bud Lites," Max told the bartender.

Fedor drummed his fingers on the counter. It had been thirty hours since The First Thing happened and twenty-six since The Second Thing happened, but he still couldn't stop thinking about it. He straightened the collar of his suit jacket and tried to school his face into the stoic expression he wore whenever an uncomfortable thought crossed his mind.

As soon as the bartender plunked down the beers, he grabbed his glass and took a long chug.

"Whoa, watch it," said Max. "I know this Olympic thing royally sucks and all, but you're going to be under the table before happy hour is even over."

"Sorry." Fedor set down the glass, shaking his head. "I guess I've just got a lot going on right now."

"I feel you. Seriously, the whole blasted IOC is going to hell in a hand-basket. Classic case of corrupt bureaucracy. I mean, who is this old troll named Thomas Bach who thinks he can just ban you without explaining why? It all seems like a political game to me."

Fedor took a drink and sighed. He had gotten used to most of Max's ranting, nodding and giving an occasional "yeah" when necessary. But he did not want to listen to this one. Right now, he just wanted to sit on his couch, binge-watch Game of Thrones, and pretend he had no feelings about the Olympics whatsoever.

But he'd probably just start thinking about The Second Thing.

Somehow, that annoyed him more than the IOC ban. Everyone around him could agree that the decisions made by an old man in Switzerland were not his fault. But the other thing made him feel guilty, as if he had done something irreversible that had just changed the direction of his life.

Of course, it wasn't like he'd never...but this was different. This was Ksenia. This was his skating partner. This was that tragically beautiful woman he would never understand.

"I don't know how you just sit there and stay so calm about this whole thing," said Max. "I mean, seriously, getting kicked out of the Olympics without proof. If you ask me, I think that loudmouth Canadian girl had something to do with it. You know Meagan Duhamel? She might as well be old Bach's granddaughter, the way she's talking. I never trusted that puny little..." He frowned. "Fedor, what happened to your neck?"

Fedor froze, the beer glass at his lips. His hand strayed to the collar of his suit jacket and pulled it up to hide the small, dark bruise just below his Adam's apple.

"It's nothing," he said, setting down the glass.

"Nothing?" Max laughed. "Come on, you don't have to hide anything from me. I might be old now, but I can still remember those days. So, who's the girl?"

He sighed. "It's not what you think, Max."

"Oh, don't be shy. I skated five years with a beautiful woman, and then I married her. I know what a hickey looks like. Just tell me, who is she?"

Fedor stared into his half-full glass, swishing the beer around. "Ksenia did it," he said, almost under his breath.

Max took a sip of beer at that moment and choked. "What? Are you out of..." He looked back at the mark. "What'd she try to do, strangle you?"

"No." He let out a long sigh. "It wasn't like that. It's not an injury."

"You're joking, right? 'Cause it's a good joke. Something ridiculous to lighten the mood. Yeah, sometimes you need to do that sort of thing."

"Max, I'm not joking." Part of him wanted to go along with the "it's just a joke" story, but he'd still have to come up with a lie about how he got the bruise in the first place.

Max's face fell dead serious, and his eyes looked ready to jump out of his head. "And it was CONSENSUAL?"

"Max." Fedor turned his face away to hide his blushing. "Don't ask me about this kind of stuff."

"Look, I'm not trying to stick my nose where it doesn't belong, even though everyone says that's all I ever do. But when my best friend tells me he's sleeping with a viper, I think I have the right to know."

"It's not like that!" He flipped around. "It just...happened. I don't know what came over us. She was ticked off about the Olympic ban and suddenly she just came at me!"

Max took a drink. "You could file charges for assault."

"That's not what happened. I mean, we didn't even do what you think we did! We just touched each other and kissed and-" He swallowed, realizing how loud his voice was becoming in the bar. "It's none of your business anyways."

"All right, all right, you don't need to draw me a diagram." Max frowned. "But seriously, I just...I don't understand. It's...Ksenia."

"Yes, I'm well aware of that!" Fedor rubbed his forehead. "We're dealing with some very unusual circumstances here. Can we please talk about something different?"

"Fine." Max knocked back his drink and waved the bartender down for a refill.

"And how about you?" the bartender asked Fedor.

"Huh?" He looked up. "Oh, yeah, sure, another Bud Lite for me too."

Neither spoke while the bartender filled up their glasses. Max had downed half of his when he looked at Fedor with a glimmer in his eye.

"So, was she any good?"

"Shut up." Fedor's heartbeat was kicking him consistently in the ribs, and if Max didn't leave him alone, there was going to be another bruised neck around here, all right. "How would you like it if I pried into your private business with Tatiana?"

Max frowned. "You're comparing apples to oranges."

"Enough." Fedor didn't realize he was clenching his fists until he felt his nails digging into his palms. "Yesterday was one of those days when your whole world is turned upside down and you do stupid things."

"Well, believe me, I'm well acquainted with doing stupid things in my life. You've been through a rough time, so I'll leave you alone. We'll never talk about this again, okay?" Max shook his head. "Let's just go get something to eat. I'm starving."

 

Chapter 3: Kaitlyn’s Expert Advice

 

(Text conversation between Ksenia Stolbova and Kaitlyn Weaver, January 25, 2018)

Kaitlyn: hey girl! I just wanted to check in and see how you're holding up.

Ksenia: Well tbh everything sucks.

Kaitlyn: I feel awful for you. Are they doing anything to fix it?

Ksenia: Meh. There's a petition on change.org. But let's face it, no one reads those. It's not like "10,000 retweets and Adele will sing at your wedding".

Kaitlyn: I'll sign it anyways. Don't lose hope.

Ksenia: Ugh every time I hope for something, there's a disaster.

Kaitlyn: Oh girl, it's not like that. Things will get better, I promise.

Ksenia: yeah I guess so.

Kaitlyn: They will. So how's Fedor?

Ksenia: He's fine. He's with Max again. *eye roll*

Kaitlyn: Trust me, Meagan has given me a college education on the "evils" of Maxim Leonidovich Trankov LOL.

Kaitlyn: Anyways, I assume Fedor is being his usual sweet, chivalrous self? When it comes to you, I mean.

Ksenia: Oh we've been getting along fine.

Ksenia: Great.

Ksenia: Better than usual, in fact.

Ksenia: Yeah. Everything's good.

Kaitlyn: "Fine, great, better than usual, yeah"? Ksenia, what's this?

Ksenia: nothing. I don't know.

Kaitlyn: NOTHING? KSENIA WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?

Ksenia: I have no idea what you're asking me about.

Kaitlyn: What happened between you and Fedor?

Ksenia: Kaitlyn, you are a hopeless romantic.

Kaitlyn: Okay okay. It just sounded like something had happened between the two of you. Sorry.

Ksenia: KAITLYN STOP IT. Just because you're in love with your partner doesn't mean I am, ok?

Kaitlyn: I'm not stupid LOL.

Ksenia: Well actually you were right, something did happen.

Kaitlyn: I KNEW IT!!! Hahaha. Tell me all about it!!!

Ksenia: There's not much to say. We just made love at his place yesterday.

Kaitlyn: I JUST SPIT OUT MY WATER. What happened to "the sexual story stays on the ice"???

Ksenia: Not anymore!

Kaitlyn: I can't believe this. My best friend has finally seen the light. You know, I shipped it all along.

Ksenia: Kaitlyn, this isn't funny. It wasn't supposed to happen. I just had this sudden need to go to his place, and the next thing you know, we were in his room.

Kaitlyn: Well it's about time!

Ksenia: This from the girl who refuses to tell anyone she's been dating her partner FOR THREE YEARS?

Kaitlyn: We just don't like getting asked about it. You've seen how much they harass Tessa and Scott.

Ksenia: Meh, I always knew they were platonic.

Kaitlyn: Haha I should hire you to knock some sense into all those crazy Virtue-Moir shippers out there.

Ksenia: I'm down for that.

Kaitlyn: Anyway, stuff happens. So you slept with him. It's not a crime.

Ksenia: Well, we didn't actually...He stopped before, you know...

Kaitlyn: Why LOL

Ksenia: Nina Mikhailovna called to ask him about the legal stuff.

Kaitlyn: DANG IT NINA! Andrew and I just silence our phones when we want some time to ourselves.

Ksenia: Oh that explains why you never pick up when I call you.

Kaitlyn: HAHA. So are you going to...finish the job?

Ksenia: KAITLYN STOP IT. We haven't even talked since, for crying out loud.

Kaitlyn: Girrrrrrrrrrrl what are you waiting for? Go call him!

Ksenia: I gotta go talk to Nina Mikhailovna. We have a LOT to discuss.

Kaitlyn: Hey don't try to get out of this!

Ksenia: Goodbye, Kaitlyn.

Kaitlyn: Get back here!

 

Kaitlyn: UGH

 

Chapter 4: Return to the Rink

Ksenia never called Fedor.

It was bad enough that she had to see him this morning. Nina Mikhailovna had optimistically planned one last training session before the Other Pairs left for the Olympic training camp in Japan.

"It'd be good for you two to skate," she'd texted Ksenia last night. "It'll help you feel less depressed."

Ksenia had replied, "You wanna know what would make me feel less depressed? You holding the IOC president while I give him a black eye."

She hitched her skating bag over her shoulder and let herself into the rink. The cold air did, in fact, invigorate her a little, but she was sweating as soon as she saw his back.

He was sitting on a bench next to the ice, lacing up his skates. His hair was tied back in its usual man bun, his beard was neatly trimmed, and there was no sign that anything unusual had happened in the past couple days. Except it was always hard to tell with him; after nearly nine years, she still couldn't figure out what thoughts hid behind that half frown or that slight eyebrow raise.

There was also the back of a large, ginger-haired head next to him, but her eyes couldn't see anything but Fedor.

"Ksenia." A hand touched her shoulder. "I just wanted to say that I'm really sorry you aren't going to the Olympics."

She sucked in a breath as the perky, fair-skinned face of Evgenia Tarasova appeared in her periphery. Something about that girl always annoyed Ksenia. She was just too sweet, too pretty, and too talented to like.

"This whole Olympics feels so weird," said Evgenia. "It's not Team Mozer without you."

"At least you're going," Ksenia muttered.

Evgenia frowned. "I know, but it doesn't feel the same. Your whole life, you've been told that the Olympics are about world peace and representing your country and singing your anthem up on that podium. I always imagined we'd be walking into the opening ceremony in all our Russian outfits...and we could be proud of our country. Not ashamed of it." She shrugged. "Maybe I'm naïve."

"You're not. Our dreams were stolen." Ksenia's voice trembled on the last word, and she took a deep breath of the sharp icy air. She was not going to cry in front of Evgenia. She refused to give her that satisfaction. Although to be honest, she doubted Evgenia would be satisfied at all.

Nina Mozer waddled over, looking like she hadn't slept in a week. "Well, let's get this over with. Fedor, get up. Your partner's here."

He blinked and rose from the bench, his eyes falling on Ksenia. She glanced down, and he blushed before nodding to Nina. "No problem, ma'am."

"Fedor." The ginger head – Vladimir - stood up from the bench, suddenly doubling in height. "What's that on your neck?"

Fedor's hand flew up to his collar. The edge of the bruise peeked up over the zipper. "Oh, nothing. Some cupping therapy. For the nerve problems." His voice sounded stiff, as though he had rehearsed this a lot.

"That's not a cupping mark," Evgenia whispered to Ksenia.

"What?" Ksenia said too loudly.

"Shh. That's a love bite."

"Are you sure?" Ksenia tried to make her voice sound casual, even though her heart was panicking. "How would you know?"

Evgenia laughed softly. "Ksenia, Vladimir and I have been dating for five years."

"Well, since you're skating to a song about 'when the panties drop', I guess I'll trust your opinion on this matter."

"Ksenia!" said Nina. "Why haven't you put on your skates yet?"

She startled. "Sorry. I was just talking to Evgenia."

"Well, you'll have plenty of time to talk after your skates are on. Come on, let's just get on the ice for starters."

Ksenia grabbed her skates out of her bag, plopped onto the bench, and started lacing them up. She could feel the whole rink's eyes on her. Especially Fedor's.

"Here's the plan," said Nina. "We do one last good day of training here. Evgenia, Vladimir, Natalia, and Alexander will meet me at the airport at six-o-clock in the morning tomorrow. We fly to the training camp in Japan to get adjusted to the time zone and work off the jet lag before we go to the Olympics. Got it?"

"Yes, Nina Mikhailovna," came a chorus of four voices.

It should've been six voices, Ksenia thought, yanking a little harder on her skate lace.

"Ksenia, Fedor, come here." Nina's voice was firm, but quieter than before. She started walking away from the group and Fedor followed her. Ksenia stood up from the bench, one skate still half-tied, and nearly tripped over Evgenia as she made her way over.

"What's this?" she said. "You've got more bad news for us? Like, I don't know, we've been banned from skating for life?"

Nina frowned. "There's no time for sarcasm here. I don't want any petty arguing going on here while I'm gone. I want you to train like nothing has happened. No blaming, no fighting, nothing but respect and acceptance." She frowned. "Although that might be easier said than done."

Ksenia had heard this kind of talk many times before. Nina always told them not to panic, then went somewhere to rant and rip out her own hair and pace like a caged bear.

Their coach sighed heavily, shaking her head. "This whole thing is ridiculous. If I see Thomas Bach in Korea, I'd like to go over and give him a piece of my mind."

"It's all right, Nina Mikhailovna," said Fedor.

"All right?" Nina frowned. "It's not all right! You think it's all right for Powers That Be in Switzerland to steal people's dreams? It's not all right and you know it." She took a deep breath. "But enough about that. Ranting won't overturn the IOC decision. In the meantime, you think you can get along all right? Avoid giving each other the 2015 Europeans death stare?"

Ksenia swallowed. She wasn't sure if she could even look at Fedor at all.

"No problem," said Fedor. "We've been, um, getting along just fine lately."

Nina nodded in approval. "All right, all right, I trust you. I was-"

A scream came from the other side of the rink, and Ksenia flipped around. Alexander was holding Natalia awkwardly, trying to set her down from an aborted lift.

"I'll handle it." Nina cut past Ksenia and Fedor and strode over to her other team. "Just put her down on her butt and let her get up on her own."

Ksenia looked up at Fedor. He blinked and took a step back.

"Um, good morning," he said.

She laughed nervously. "Good morning."

"Thanks." He glanced at the other side of the rink, where Natalia was scrambling to her feet. "So, um, I guess we should start skating."

"Yeah, I guess we should."

He gestured at her foot. "Um, your skate's still untied."

"Oh!" She dropped to her knee to lace it. "Thanks for noticing."

A whole month of training alone with him. As if being banned from the Olympics wasn't bad enough, she was about to experience the most awkward month she could ever imagine.

She wondered if there was room in Evgenia's suitcase for her. After all, she could always throw that polka-dotted dress out the window if it got too cramped.

 

Chapter 5: Home Sweet St. Petersburg

 

Ksenia spent the first week dreading a conversation that never happened.

The thing was, Fedor simply didn't talk about it. In fact, he barely talked to her at all. A hello in the morning, a "see you tomorrow" at the end of practice, a few uses of "let's try a throw double flip", and once, after a particularly hard fall, "Are you okay?" Practices were sluggish and useless, heavy with the constant state of depression they were both stuck in.

The Court of Arbitration for Sport, also known as the Court that Receives Appeals But Never Actually Helps You, denied their petition. The IOC had not provided the reason for their suspension yet, and the skating forums were abuzz with rumors.

The low blows: "They must've used meldonium when she had that lip injection". (Utter slander; the lips were natural).

The dirty-minded: "I've heard dope can be sexually transmitted if you sleep with a doper." (AS IF).

And the worst: "This is karma for how she's treated poor Klimov over the years. He seems like such a nice guy and shouldn't have to put up with all the crap from her." (For some reason, this bothered her more than the lip injection rumors; she wanted to punch them straight through her computer screen).

The day before her birthday, she left for St. Petersburg; with no Olympics to attend and six weeks until Worlds, she might as well see her mom. Fedor simply said, "Have a nice trip." And that was it.

Her mother was elated to see her and equally heartbroken over the IOC's decision. After talking about it for half an hour, Ksenia broke down crying on the couch, and her mother sat beside her and stroked her hair, the way she used to when she was little.

That night, she had a nightmare.

She was standing in the center of the ice, looking flawless in her new Carmen dress. The crowd was clapping and cheering and waving actual Russian flags instead of that "Olympic Athlete from Russia" farce. Then a scream.

Pain shot up her legs. The ice had turned to fire.

The crowd switched from cheering to shrieking, trampling each other to escape the arena. She scrambled across the ice, trying to reach the opening in the boards, but her toe pick caught and sent her sprawling flat on her stomach. The flames licked her skin through the lace of her dress.

Where was Fedor? She tried to call his name, but the smoke rushed up her throat and she could only cough. Tears flew down her face as the fire burned her chest.

A hand clamped down on her wrist. Somewhere in the haze of pain, she felt relief. He was here. He wouldn't let her die.

But it wasn't Fedor. It was an old man, wearing glasses and a black coat embroidered with the Olympic rings. He smiled evilly at her.

Ksenia woke gasping, her face pressed into the pillows. The back of her thin white t-shirt was drenched in sweat. A lock of short dark hair covered her vision in one eye. She shifted, and now she could see her bright white bedding and the edge of her nightstand. She was in her old room at her mom's house.

"Just a dream, just a dream," she said, grabbing her phone off the table and sitting up in bed. Her skin felt clammy and cold, but sunlight came in through the window, and the spidery fingers of the dream slowly left her skin.

The screen lit up with a message:

Kaitlyn: Happy birthday to the toughest, baddest girl I know! Hope we can see each other sometime soon. <3

Ksenia: Thanks, I really needed that.

She sighed. Her birthday. Four years ago, she'd spent her birthday at the freaking OLYMPICS. It had been a blessed era when she'd had long hair, Fedor was clean-shaven and sans man bun, and the Olympics were talked about with joy rather than disgust.

Her 23rd, 24th, and 25th birthdays had all been spent touring with Art on Ice in Switzerland, which wasn't half bad. At least, they were a lot better than waking up from a nightmare involving burning ice.

"Ksenia?" Her mom knocked on the door. "It's seven-thirty. Do you want to get up and do some shopping, or would you rather sleep your birthday away?"

A smile pulled on her mouth. "Shopping."

Three stores and four shopping bags later, her mother asked, "So, how is Fedor doing?"

The question was so sudden that Ksenia slipped on the sidewalk and nearly dropped the tiny bag of Chanel perfume into the street. "What?"

Her mom shrugged, a sheepish smile on her face. "It was just a question! You're acting like a jumping jackrabbit."

She nodded. "He's fine."

"I'm glad to hear." Her mom stopped to look at a wide green scarf in a store window. "Always seemed like a nice boy to me. Does he still have the, um, ponytail thing?"

Ksenia rolled her eyes and sighed. "Man bun, Mom. And yes, he still has it."

"Bummer. Oh well, he's cute no matter what, don't you think?"

Her heart skipped a beat. She had few secrets from her mother, but she also didn't feel like divulging the juicy details of what had happened in Fedor's room. "He's...he's all right."

Her mom turned around and laughed. "Oh, okay, I get it, you don't want your old mom asking you about your dating life. I'll just butt out and pretend you don't have a totally gorgeous partner who has a good job and would treat you right."

Ksenia covered her mouth to stop a chuckle. "When he's not banned from that job."

"Oh, pfft." Flicking her hand, her mom started walking again. "Anyway, what else is new?"

"Besides heartbreak, tragedy, and misery?" She stopped in front of a window display full of Calvin Klein sheath dresses. "That red dress with the side gathering."

 

Chapter 6: Business Negotiations

 

Later that night, Ksenia was sitting on her bed, surrounded in her shopping bags. In addition to the red dress and the perfume, she'd bought a cashmere sweater, a case of eye shadow, two new lipsticks, and some burgundy leather pumps with pointy toes. Her psychology books would probably classify it as compulsive shopping, but since it wasn't every day you got banned from the Olympics, she thought she deserved a few splurges.

Her phone buzzed and she scrambled to fish it out of her bag, thinking maybe Kaitlyn had called again. But only one message glowed on the screen, short and clear, and she blinked.

Fedor: hey how was your birthday?

Ksenia: fine.

She set down the phone for half a second, then grabbed it again without thinking and kept typing.

Ksenia: How are you?

Fedor: I'm ok. Tatiana called me over to help prepare for Angelica's birthday party. The amount of planning that woman puts into a party for a one-year-old who won't even remember any of it is UNREAL.

Ksenia: LOL

Fedor: How about you? Are you okay?

Ksenia: yeah.

Fedor: Good. I was worried about you.

Ksenia: What's that supposed to mean?

Fedor: I'm checking to see if you're all right because that's what good partners do.

Ksenia: What, you didn't think I could handle myself?

Fedor: No, not that. I just thought...with all this Olympic stuff going on, you might need someone to cheer you up.

Ksenia: Well thanks. My mom is taking good care of me and will fight anyone who even mentions the word "dope" haha.

Fedor: That's good.

Ksenia: yeah.

There was a long pause before his next message appeared.

Fedor: So...I don't know if it's a good time to ask, but have you decided whether you want to keep skating? I mean, if you don't, it's fine. I was just asking because sooner than later, the media will want to know.

Ksenia: That depends. What about you?

Fedor: I would like to. But I can't really do that if I don't have a partner haha.

Ksenia: Rumor has it Astakhova will be available soon.

Fedor: That's...not what I meant. I don't want to switch partners.

Ksenia: What, after nine years of skating together, you'd actually miss me if I wasn't here?

Fedor: Of course I would. It's been "Stolbova and Klimov" so long that I just can't imagine skating with someone else. And I wouldn't want to.

She hesitated, not sure how to reply. Her heart was beating like an impatient bird, and while she tried to type something sensible, he kept messaging.

Fedor: You know that time in my room? I want you to know it wasn't a mistake.

Fedor: That it wasn't just something I did because I was confused. It wasn't just...rash passion, I guess.

She almost dropped the phone. For two weeks, he hadn't said a word about what had happened, and she was perfectly fine with that. But leave it to Fedor to screw it up.

Ksenia: Huh?

Fedor: ugh I knew this was gonna be awkward. I'm not making any sense. What I'm trying to say is, I don't regret what happened. Do you?

She didn't even hesitate this time.

Ksenia: No.

Fedor: oh thank God. Phew, that wasn't so hard. I wanted to tell you since Nina left, but I always got too nervous. It's harder to say it in person, you know. And you weren't talking to me at the rink so I wasn't sure if you were mad.

Ksenia: Hey, wait a minute, you were the one who wasn't talking to me.

Fedor: I was scared. And kinda embarrassed. It wasn't how I planned it.

Ksenia: Omg wait, you PLANNED to do that with me?

Fedor: Uh, no! I meant that I don't usually, you know, move that fast in a relationship. That's all.

Ksenia: Okay, Fedor Alexandrovich, that's enough. I don't need to know about what you do with other girls.

Fedor: Don't worry, there hasn't been another girl in a long time. For some reason...I just end up comparing them to you and suddenly they don't seem all that exciting.

Ksenia: Well, I've been told I'm one of a kind.

Fedor: That's true :D

She realized she was holding her breath and let it out quickly, her hands shaking. He'd said it. He actually cared about her as more than a friend. He'd felt that way for a long time. And he didn't regret what had happened between them one bit.

There was a time when she'd thought he'd loved her, back in Sochi when the whirlwind of happiness had swept them away in a two-week fantasy they'd never imagined. But she'd been dating Dmitri Soloviev at the time, and she'd dismissed Fedor's cute smiles and affectionate looks as nothing but an innocent schoolboy crush.

But like any other person, she was wrong sometimes.

She started typing a new message.

Ksenia: I've made up my mind. We're staying together and we've got four years to catch up with Sui/Han. Are you down for that?

Fedor: Of course :D

 

Chapter 7: Rewriting the Story

 

Over the next two weeks, the story of Stolbova and Klimov as everyone knew it was completely rewritten. Gone were the days of awkward small talk and distance between them. After every practice, they alternated going back to his place and hers.

Sometimes they talked about whatever came to mind. Sometimes they'd watch movies (he'd finally gotten her to watch that one with the light-up swords and the alien soldiers in white masks). Sometimes the realization of what had been done to them would come over her again and she'd cry into his shoulder, feeling the steady beat of his heart under her cheek.

And sometimes, they made love.

For the first time, Ksenia started to understand how deep and fascinating Fedor really was. He spoke openly about his childhood in St. Petersburg – poor, fatherless, and skating because it was the only thing his mother knew how to teach him. He didn't dwell on the hard parts of his story; he just talked, pure and simple, and it made her heart swell out of her chest.

The Olympics went on like a radio in the background. She was aware that Aliona had finally done The Thing, that Hanyu had defended his Olympic title on a bad ankle, that the French girl lost a gold medal because her top came undone, and Zagitova had beaten Medvedeva in her own tutu. And of course she knew Russia had won silver in the team event – the same team event she and Fedor would have been part of.

But it didn't hurt so much when she was tangled up in his strong arms or lost in his beautiful eyes. "It's just a silver medal," he said. "Remember that season when we won so many silvers that you told me you never wanted to see anything silver again?"

She smiled, he laughed, and for the first time in weeks, she felt a little like Ksenia again.

On the morning of the closing ceremony, she woke on her side, facing the window as the sun filtered through the curtains. The clock on the bedside table read 8:48 – they were supposed to be at practice by 9:00, but there was really no one there to enforce it.

She rolled over and smiled at Fedor, who was still sleeping like the dead next to her. He had this adorable habit of smiling in his sleep. Or at least he did when he was next to her. Usually he was the first one up, trying to figure out how to cook something tolerable for breakfast, but this time he wasn't budging.

She tried to slip out of the bed without disturbing him, but the metal frame squeaked, and his eyes flew open at her.

"Oh, good morning," he said, grinning. "What's on the agenda today?"

She smiled. "Some real breakfast instead of that slop you make every morning. What do you say?"

"Sounds good to me." He sat up and fished his t-shirt off the floor. "So what'll it be – breakfast sandwiches from Vitaly's Deli or loaded pancakes from The Pancake House?"

She thought for a minute. "Loaded pancakes. I feel like living on the edge today."

They were still laughing as they made their way into the rink after breakfast. Fedor had been telling a story about when he ripped his pants at a junior skating competition, and her eyes were watering from laughing so hard.

"So I skated over to my coach and she just looked at me with this dead-serious face and said, 'What were you trying to do back there?'"

Ksenia covered her mouth to get control of herself. "I can't believe you never told me this! I mean, we've skated nine years together!"

He snickered. "Ah, well, it's not the first story you want to tell your new partner when you're trying to impress her."

The rink hummed with a fresh energy as they practiced; the twists felt a little higher, the throws faster, and the jumps stronger. Her blood felt tinged with fire, as if a new spark was lighting just beneath her skin, and she actually found herself smiling as she skated.

"Let's do some more throws," he said. "Which one should we start with: flip or salchow?"

She paused for a minute. "Flip."

He took her wrist and started skating backwards, pulling her along into the entry of the throw. She spun around at the last minute, felt his hands lock around her waist, and waited for the familiar thrust as he tossed her.

She had done this ten thousand times, but somehow it felt different today. She felt a rush of adrenaline in her limbs, a pulse in the air itself. She was a force, a pistol, like one of those light saber things Fedor liked.

Then she felt her weight tilt and her blade slide off the edge.

Her free leg swung around to catch her, but her body wouldn't stop rotating. She flailed her arms desperately, reaching for the ice, trying to put her hands down. Something tore in her landing leg, and she slammed hard into the ice.

For a moment, all she could feel was the shock from the impact. Then a lightning bolt of pain shot from her knee to her ankle. She tried to sit up, but hands were on her shoulders, lowering her back to the ice.

"Don't try to get up," Fedor said. He was bent over her, shaking a little despite his calm face. "Are you hurt?"

"My leg," she gasped.

He turned his attention from her face to her ankle, rolling up her legging and pressing his hands on her calf. He was probably being very gentle, but she had to bite down hard on her tongue to stop herself from cussing.

"Ksenia, Ksenia, Ksenia." He shook his head, a sad smile on his mouth. "I swear if something is going to happen, it always happens to you."

 

Chapter 8: “Never.”

 

Fedor was trying very hard not to show how anxious he actually was. His hands were shaking in his pockets, and he had to remind himself to breathe as he walked alongside the gurney.

"There's nothing to worry about," said the nurse, pushing it down the hallway. She was even smaller than Ksenia, with blonde braids and bright blue eyes, and he wanted to ask if she was old enough to be working here. "It's just a leg injury. It's not like she's going in for heart surgery."

Ksenia scowled up at her. "Then why am I on the gurney instead of a wheelchair?"

"It's easier to push." The end of the gurney clanged against the corner, and all three winced. "Well, usually."

"I can push it," Fedor said, laying one hand over the nurse's. He'd lifted Ksenia over his head more times than he'd care to remember; pushing a gurney would be no sweat. "Just let me."

"Don't worry, sweetie, we're almost there." She smiled up at him, dimples appearing on her round cheeks, and winked. It turned his stomach.

The nurse miraculously guided the gurney to the doctor's room and knocked on the door. She looked positively out of breath, but not enough to stop her from throwing him a sassy look before the doctor opened the door.

Unfortunately, Ksenia and Fedor had seen Dr. Shumov and his emergency room quite frequently over the past three years. He was a short, balding man in his fifties, with very square glasses. As they entered, he rolled his eyes, as if to say, "Not again."

"Leg injury," Fedor said. "Right leg. She fell hard on a throw jump. I threw her too hard and she slipped. She hit her side too."

The doctor sighed and started examining her leg. Fedor sucked in a breath. It had swollen to nearly the thickness of her thigh.

A hand on his arm made him twitch. The nurse was standing an inch away from him, running her fingers over the back of his bicep. He stepped back, and she followed.

"What are you doing?" he hissed under his breath.

"Come here, sweetie, don't be shy." Her high laugh made him squirm. "I'm free tonight."

She winked again, and he stumbled back four or five steps, his hands in the air. "Um, no, sorry, you've got it all wrong. I've already got a great girl and I'd like to keep it that way."

Dr. Shumov looked up, and Ksenia stiffened on the table.

"Oh." The nurse wiggled her shoulders. "May I know who?"

Fedor blinked. It was one thing to tell Maxim about it (although on second thought, that hadn't been such a good idea either), but he was NOT going to reveal their relationship to this flirting girl when he hadn't even told his mother or Nina. "Um-"

"Oh, Katya, it's none of your business." Dr. Shumov waved a hand in the air, then lifted Ksenia's training shirt and winced at the bruises. "Well, you're one tough young lady, that's for sure. Surface bruising – it looks worse than it actually is, but it won't be pleasant for the next couple days."

To everyone's surprise, Ksenia chuckled. "This whole month hasn't been pleasant for me. I think I can take some bruising."

He smiled. "You'll be just fine. As for the leg, it's a ligament tear. The swelling will go down quickly once we get you bandaged up. Two weeks in a cast, maybe three. No skating until May at least. You think you can handle that, young lady?"

Ksenia nodded, but her eyes were wet, either from pain or from frustration. Or both.

The doctor turned to Fedor. "You can just step out while we bandage her up. She should probably stay here overnight, just because of the bruising."

"I'll stay here with her," he said.

Dr. Shumov raised an eyebrow. "Well, um..." He squirmed. "The bruising went very high up her side. We'll have to, uh, undress that part of her to bandage it. So, uh..."

Ksenia looked up as if to tell him that it was fine, but Fedor raised a hand. They had enough going on without dating rumors spreading. "No, I totally get it. I'll, um, see you when it's done."

He slipped out of the room, the nurse's sad puppy eyes following him, and shut the door. The waiting room was empty, and a rerun of a foreign soap opera was playing on the TV with Russian subtitles. He sank onto the couch, closed his eyes, and wondered how things had gotten so crazy in just a few weeks.

He still could not shake the panic that had clutched his heart when she'd hit the ice. Her horrified look as her leg twisted, the scream that followed, the tears that never fell, all stabbed him with guilt. She was in pain right now, and it was his fault.

It brought him back to a conversation he'd had with Max nearly three years ago, in the stands at a Zenit game. After Duhamel and Radford landed their throw quad salchow, the federation demanded that the Russian pairs start training bigger elements. Max, plain and simple, said, "Never."

"What do you mean, never?" Fedor had said. "Even Natalia and Alexander are trying a throw triple axel."

Max frowned. "Well, you wouldn't understand, having your partner situation and all, but when you actually care about your partner, you just can't see them smack the ice."

Fedor scoffed, offended. Of course he never enjoyed seeing Ksenia getting hurt, and he always apologized if it was his fault. "I do care about Ksenia. I mean, I don't love her romantically, but it's not like I hate her or anything. We're just...different."

"No, I don't think you get it." Max leaned back in his seat. "Something changes when you fall in love with your partner. You start panicking every minute that she's going to crack her head because you threw her wrong. You start blaming yourself for every bruise she gets. You feel like a despicable person every time she slips out of your hands."

Fedor, listening to this whole testimonial, thought falling in love with your partner sounded like a stupid, painful thing to do.

Now, sitting in the waiting room of a hospital, wearing a wrinkled t-shirt that still smelled like Ksenia's perfume, he understood all too well.

 

Chapter 9: A Choice

 

Ksenia woke staring up at the bright white lights on the ceiling of her hospital room. Her entire left side was stiff with bandages, and her right leg was still stubbornly swollen to twice the size of her left. After Dr. Shumov had wrapped her up, he'd given her a sedative to speed up the healing, and she'd slept through the afternoon and into the evening.

Someone knocked on the door, and she groaned. It was probably that blasted nurse again, the one who almost killed her on that gurney.

"Leave me alone," she mumbled, still half drugged.

"Okay, okay, then, you just tell me when you're ready."

If her leg wasn't so useless right now, she would've kicked herself. It was Fedor.

"Oh, come in," she said.

He opened the door. She expected him to smile, but his face was subdued, almost anxious. He didn't speak or move towards her.

"I thought you were the nurse," she said after a minute.

"I know." He swallowed. "Are you, um, feeling all right?"

She laughed dryly. "As well as a person can feel when their leg has doubled in size."

He sighed. "I'm really sorry, Ksenia. I'm really sorry."

She flicked her hand. "It's okay! I'm not the 'raging evil Game of Thrones queen' I used to be."

A hint of a smile crossed his mouth, but it faded too fast. "I...just...I shouldn't have thrown you so hard. I could've killed you."

She raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about? It's just a leg. It's not like I smacked my head."

"It's different now!" he shouted, throwing up his hands. "Now I understood what Max meant. I should've listened."

The anger in his voice startled her. She couldn't remember the last time Fedor had yelled at her. His voice grew stern sometimes, and he told her when he disagreed with her, but he never truly lost his temper.

"What did Max tell you?" she said.

Fedor opened his mouth halfway, then shook his head. "Nothing. It was...it was nothing."

"What has he been telling you about me?" She sat up in the bed, her voice tightening with panic. "That I work as a stripper on Fridays to pay for my Louis Vuitton bags?"

"No, no, it's nothing like that." He sighed, his anger gone in a flash. "He said it's harder when you love your partner. When they're in pain, it just..." A shudder ran over his shoulders. "I know I'm overreacting, but I just keep thinking, what if it's not your leg next time?"

Ksenia leaned back into her pillows and crossed her arms. Fedor rarely messed things up, but when he did, he didn't forgive himself easily. "You'll be careful. You're always careful."

"That's the thing. I thought I was being careful!" His eyes fell from her face to her leg. "I can't do this, Ksenia. I care about you too much."

"And what's wrong with that?" She stuck out her chin. "Tanya and Max are freaking married and they're doing fine. And Evgenia and Vladimir – well, I don't want to know about what happens after the 'panties drop'."

"It's different for me, okay?" He knelt beside the bed and took her hand. "I think we should stop being partners."

The words hit her like cold water, and she blinked. "What?"

"I can't throw you nine feet in the air and trust that I'm always going to catch you. It scares me, Ksenia. I don't know how Max and Vladimir do it."

"So what do you want? You're just going to dump me and leave me here without a partner?" Her heart was kicking her over and over. "That's love indeed!"

"No. We'll...we'll get new partners. Nina Mikhailovna will find someone for us. Then we can keep dating and I won't have to be scared for you."

"Wait." She took a deep breath, trying to slow the spinning in her head. "We've been partners for nine years. You promised me we'd do this together."

"That was before I realized it would be like this." He shuddered. "I love you, Ksenia. I love you too much."

His voice, so vulnerable and simple, was like pressing a needle into her heart. She squeezed his hand tight. "I need you."

He closed his eyes. "I know. I never thought we'd have to make this decision."

A thought, cold and unwelcome, came into her mind. The minute it arrived, she already knew there was only one option here.

"We can't split," she said. "I'm the only girl who can do a triple-triple-double. I can do spread eagles in my sleep. We jump at the same height and we spin at the same speed. We're a pair, Fedor."

"I know that." He shook his head. "Don't tell me what I already know."

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what do you mean?"

She said it quickly, before she could think about how much it would hurt. "We could stop dating."

Fedor looked at her for a minute, studying her face, trying to understand her words. He flattened a wrinkle in the bed sheet with his hand over and over, a frown inching across his face.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, unable to look at him.

"I'm sorry too," he said.

His fingers brushed over her hand. She could sense that he had stood up and started walking away. When she opened her eyes, he was standing in the doorway, turning to leave.

"Wait." The force in her voice surprised her. "I love you."

He lowered his eyes. "I love you too."

Ksenia held her breath, waiting for him to leave, to make it official that they were no longer a couple. But he just stood there, looking at her like she was everything he'd ever wanted and couldn't have. He took one step towards the bed, then another, until he was beside her again.

"I love you," she said again. "I'm a fool."

She expected him to shake his head and look away, or laugh uncomfortably, or say she wasn't really much of a fool. Then he would walk out of the room, and they'd go back to being ordinary business partners.

Instead, he kissed her gently on the lips.

It was a brief kiss, nothing like the raw, passionate, hungry ones they'd shared over the past few weeks. But it was long enough for her to understand the love he felt for her. And that was enough.

Then his lips were gone. He smiled down at her, a sad, regretful smile, and backed away. He closed the door with a heavy click, reminding her of a coffin door closing.

Ksenia stared at the closed door for several minutes, wondering how long her chest would feel like a shattered glass window. They'd had no chance. It had been a fantasy, a bedtime story, a legend. She had always known that she and Fedor could not be together, but she'd been stupid enough to try.

She rolled over and sobbed hard into her pillow. For the first time in weeks, Fedor was not there to comfort her.

 

Epilogue:

 

Two days later, Ksenia and Fedor were at the rink to welcome the rest of Team Mozer home. When Nina saw Ksenia leaning on crutches, she just shook her head.

"I can't leave you two alone for a minute." She sighed, her eyes scanning back and forth between Ksenia and Fedor. "So, did you survive a month alone together?"

Fedor grinned. "Barely."

She narrowed her eyes. "No talks of splitting?"

He laughed. "Well, we talked about it, but in the end we decided to work together."

"Well, I'm glad for that."

Nina stepped aside, and there stood Evgenia and Vladimir, still wearing the plain white jackets they'd gotten at the Olympics. Vladimir shook Fedor's hand and nodded to Ksenia. "Good to see you again," he said.

Evgenia smiled softly. "We...we missed you."

She stood on tiptoe to kiss Fedor's cheek – a kiss between friends. Then she turned to Ksenia. "Are you all right? Nina Mikhailovna told me about your leg."

"It's fine." Ksenia tried to smile. "I guess I just have bad luck."

To her surprise, Evgenia threw her arms around her in a tight hug. For a moment, Ksenia stood stiffly, like she was being squeezed by a giant snake. But something in her chest shifted, and she hugged Evgenia back.

"You'll get through this," Evgenia whispered. "You're one of the strongest people I know. And you have a great partner."

Ksenia glanced over Evgenia's shoulder at Fedor, who was laughing with Alexander. She had thought it would've been incredibly awkward to see him after the breakup, but he just smiled and acted like nothing had happened.

"I know," she said.

Evgenia released Ksenia and lowered her voice. "You're lucky. If I were you, I'd go find someone like him. He's so sweet."

"Hey, girls!" Nina was staring at them in amazement. "Ksenia, are you sure you didn't hit your head when you fell?"

"No, Nina Mikhailovna." Ksenia covered her mouth to stop a laugh. "Everything's fine."

Nina eyed her for a second, then shrugged and kept moving. A second later, Evgenia left for the bathroom, and Ksenia found herself standing next to Fedor. He grinned at her.

"Did I just see you hugging Evgenia?" he said.

She pretended to be annoyed. "Yes, you did. Do you have a problem with that?"

He shook his head, laughing. "No, of course not. Unless you're trying to tell me that you've turned lesbian because I was such a bad boyfriend."

Her face burned with embarrassment.

"It was just a joke," he said, waving his hand. "Here, let me help you with those crutches." He held her shoulders while she steadied her weight. "Is that better?"

"Yeah."

"I'll drive you home. How does that sound, partner?"

She swallowed. His hand was extended, like an invitation. His smile, innocent and forgiving, was as familiar to her as the weight of her skates on her feet. No matter what, Fedor would always be Fedor – that sweet, patient boy who always cared about her and always did what was best for her.

She looked up at him and took his hand, a smile lighting up her face. "That sounds great, partner."


End file.
